


Fas Est Et Ab Hoste Doceri

by ornithomancy



Category: XCOM (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Here's an au no one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 13:26:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12190812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ornithomancy/pseuds/ornithomancy
Summary: If the Skirmishers fall now, then there is no hope for the resistance even though XCOM has only just gotten the Avenger flying again.





	Fas Est Et Ab Hoste Doceri

Betos fires her bullpup, hitting the muton squarely in its chest. It roars something full of pain and anger, and under other circumstances she would have felt sorry for the creature. At the moment, though, she had to care for her own kind first and foremost.

 

With the muton out of the way, she runs to help Mox up. “Are you badly injured?” she asks.

 

He takes a moment to recover from his disorientation and respond. “I am fine. The Assassin left in search of greater prey.”

 

“Does she know where Orel is?”

 

“No, but she is not difficult to find. Orel is on the roof of the quarters.”

 

Betos looks towards the building used as their quarters, hoping that she could get there before it was too late. Before she can make a move, a scream from one of their own drags both of their attentions in the opposite direction.

 

“Go to Orel, I will see to the others,” Mox says, looking at his leader again. He lifts his gun to quickly shoot a another muton that was heading in their direction. “Your path is clear. Go!”

 

They split off, running in opposite directions. Betos launches her grapple once she’s in range of the ledge of the roof, quickly pulling herself up. Just in time, too, as she sees Orel grappling with an officer while shouting orders to their troops over her comms. The officer has a slash across their chest from her ripjack, but it clearly wasn’t enough. One quick shot from her bullpup was enough to kill them before Orel could be subdued.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

Orel nods, a movement difficult to distinguish with her helmet on. “Now I am,” she assures. “I’ve managed to avoid the Assassin so far.”

 

“What is your analysis of the situation?” Betos crosses over to stand by the ledge next to Orel, looking over the carnage of their base. 

 

“It’s not looking good,” she says. Her voice has the even cadence of a proper leader, but the slump of her shoulders reveals her actual feelings. “She can summon pawns faster than we can kill them, and that was when we were at full strength, too. Unless we can get some lucky shots on her, there won’t be anything left.”

 

Betos is silent for a moment, then pulls her in for a hug. “I am sorry. I should have done more for you,” she says quietly.

 

Orel allows the hug for a moment, then extracts herself from her superior’s grasp. “There’s still a chance,” she says. She hesitates for a moment and Betos can visualize the pain on her face. “Can you get to your office? Send a distress signal?”

 

“Are you sure? The only one likely to come to our aid-”

 

“I  _ know! _ If he shows, I’ll deal with it. If we don’t get any help, we’re dead and so is the resistance.”

 

Orel lifts her bullpup and snipes a muton charging towards a group of Skirmishers. It doesn’t fell the beast, but it at least softens it up. 

 

“I will go,” Betos says. “Clear a path to the main building, and I will do everything in my power to send the signal.”

 

They both look down at the fastest path from their location to Betos’s office. Orel barks a few orders into the comms, and two Skirmishers break off from the rest of their group to fortify the path. She then looks up at her leader as though to say something more, but before she can Betos quickly shoots at something behind her.

 

The Assassin disappears before the other Skirmisher can turn and slash with her ripjack.

 

“Who the hell had eyes on the Chosen last?” Orel yells into the comms.

 

There is a beat of horrifying silence before Mox answers. “It was Beast and Ripper. They are…”

 

Orel curses in a blend of human and alien tongues. “I can manage,” she says to Betos before she can object. “Get the signal out before it’s too late!” With that, she rappels down the side of the building and dashes towards a group of their own.

 

Betos watches her fondly for a brief moment, then rappels down to run to her office.

 

* * *

 

 

“We’re picking up a distress signal, sir,” Gao says, slightly out of breath from running from the bridge to the Ring. He flicks his gaze from Bradford to Volk and back. “It’s coming from the Skirmisher’s headquarters.”

Volk snaps his attention back to Bradford, his gaze expectant. 

“What was it? Anything severe?” he asks, ignoring Volk for the moment.

“She said that the Assassin is slaughtering her people and if they fall now then there is no hope for the resistance.”

The words shake Bradford to his very core. They’ve only got the Avenger off the ground recently, so there had to be a future for the resistance, right?

Volk scoffs. “Don’t get caught up in her prose, John. I was  _ just _ telling you how those scum have gotten exponentially better the past few years!” he snaps. “They’ll be fine.”

For his part, Bradford does not wither under their gazes. The Commander wouldn’t have succumbed to the pressure, and he has spent too long searching and not emulating. In that, he recognizes he has been a poor leader. “I’d be happy to drop you off at the nearest Reaper camp, Volk, but I’m not going to risk ignoring Betos anymore. If the entire resistance hangs on some of her people surviving, then I’m going,” he declares. “Gao-” 

“You can’t-”

He turns to glare at Volk. “I can and will. Are you flying with us or not?”

Volk considers him for a moment, then lifts his chin. “I’ll come, if only to rub it in when this backfires on you.”

Bradford rolls his eyes, but nevertheless heads to the bridge to get the Avenger flying.

  
  
  


What his troops find when they touchdown at the Skirmisher HQ is horrifying, to say the least. Bodies of ADVENT troops lie indiscriminately beside those of Skirmishers. The only way to tell the difference between the sides is from the state of the armor on the bodies. 

“Fan out and find that Assassin,” Bradford orders. “The sooner we find her the sooner the remaining Skirmishers can breathe. Outrider, find some high ground.”

The squad does as they’re told, keeping behind cover whenever possible and staying vigilant for the Chosen supposedly running around. Horak points his rifle at the first living troop they spot, only for Kelly to shove it down before he can shoot.

“Skirmisher,” she says pointedly, nodding towards the logo painted on their pauldron.

Their noise makes the Skirmisher turn, raising their own weapon in self defense. Once they see that it is humans and not ADVENT they relax and lower their guard. “Our signal was received, thank goodness,” they say, seemingly more into their own comms.

While their guard is down, an officer takes aim, hitting the Skirmisher's shoulder and knocking them down. Pagano is the one who acts the quickest, drawing her sword and running at the officer to make quick work of them. 

Horak motions for the rest of the squad to continue onwards while he goes to quickly patch up the Skirmisher. “Easy, I’m here to help,” he assures, kneeling beside them. He holds the pieces of their armor apart while his GREMLIN sprays the wound. “Do you know where the Chosen is?” he asks.

“She is after Orel. And she is with Betos and Mox,” they say. “Thank you.”

He tries not to grimace at the thought of an alien thanking him. “Just stay here and stay low,” he orders. He stands up once he’s sure the Skirmisher won’t bleed out, then relays the information to the rest of the squad and runs ahead to catch up.

More bodies litter the ground as they approach the center of the camp, mutons and berserkers and even a few chryssalids now lying among them. A handful of Skirmishers huddles behind an outcropping of rocks and a couple more stand on the roof of a crumbling building nearby. One of the ones on the roof shouts something to their companions on the ground, and the one in white armor turns to look at them.

“That one is Mox!” Outrider growls over comms. “You ought to leave him to die, though he deserves a worse death.”

“We aren’t leaving any more if we can help it,” Kelly snaps. “Does anyone have eyes on the Assassin?”

Just as the negatives start rolling in, the Chosen makes her appearance not far from the rocks that the Skirmishers were behind. She summons a wave of psionic energy with her blade that knocks them all to the ground before darting off in the opposite direction. 

“I got her!” Williams shouts, already reaching for his grenade launcher as he moves into position. A noise behind him makes him flinch and turn just in time to see a Skirmisher in green armor pull themselves to a stun lancer that was about to behead him and gut them with their ripjack. 

“She doesn’t take damage from explosives,” the Skirmisher warns, seemingly eyeing his grenade launcher even with her helmet on. “Have your people deal with her, I’ll get the fallen Skirmishers.”

She runs off towards Mox and the rest. The Assassin shouts something after her but he can’t tell what because suddenly Central’s voice is in his ear sounding more frantic than he’d ever heard him. “Who the hell was that?”

“I don’t know, some Skirmisher, they all look the same,” he snaps. He launches the grenade to break the Assassin’s cover anyways. “We’ve sort of got bigger things to worry about here, Central. Menace, over here!”

The entire squad takes potshots at the Assassin, but even with Outrider’s shot hitting it’s not enough to kill her. 

The Chosen spots a new target and dashes across the field. Kelly and Pagano give chase, if only to keep her in their line of sight so she can’t disappear again. They catch up to her just in time to see her slash a Skirmisher they recognize form pictures as Betos. Kelly lifts her rifle to take a shot and Pagano grabs her sword again, but before either can move, the Assassin is felled by a round from a Vektor rifle in her neck.

She disappears in a torrent of psionic energy, but for the moment she can slaughter the Skirmishers no longer.

“Good work, Outrider,” Volk cuts in on Bradford’s comms, his voice swelling with pride.

“Just help clear out the rest of the troops,” Bradford adds.

Pagano yells for Horak to patch Betos up, the two of them staying with her. The rest of the squad clear out the last of the troops hounding them, a project made far easier with the remaining Skirmishers helping. 

When the last alien hits the ground, there is blissful silence blanketing the carnage. 

“It’s done. Can we leave now?” Outrider asks. 

“You can come back to the ship,” Bradford says. “We aren’t leaving until Betos is sure everything is okay, though.” Before the mic cuts out, the squad can hear Volk start to say something, clearly unhappy.

A fresh batch of troops drop from the skyranger after a few minutes, each with armfuls of medical supplies. Those with any useful medical knowledge are sent to help with the wounded while the rest separate the dead Skirmishers from ADVENT and scavenge anything that might be useful. While they’re working, the Avenger touches down into a field nearby, allowing more of XCOM’s own to help and for the Skirmishers to use their infirmary as needed. 

“Are you sure you haven’t been drinking John?” Volk asks as they march off the Avenger.

“I  _ heard _ her, Volk. I’d know that voice anywhere.” Bradford flags down a Skirmisher who’s still standing and has them point them to where Betos is.

The Skirmisher’s leader is sitting on a pile of boxes, most of her armor set beside her to account for the red tinged bandage covering her upper body. “Central, Volikov,” she greets as they approach, thinly veiled bitterness in her voice. “I must thank you for your assistance. Had you not arrived when you did, my people would have been wiped out.”

“Is there anything more we can do to help?” Bradford asks. 

Volk pointedly crosses his arms and says nothing.

“As for things you can do now, not much can be done other than tend to our wounded. Our numbers have suffered greatly, and they will only continue to dwindle in the coming days. We will be lucky if we end with even a quarter of what we had just days ago,” she says. 

The mention of just how many were lost makes both men visibly uncomfortable. 

“But there is still something you can do for us. You can end your prejudice, allow us to speak,  and earn your trust.”

“I’m not working with you hybrids,” Volk says quickly.

“I was not addressing you, Reaper.”

He can see Volk turn to judge him, but he tries to pay it no mind. “I'm willing to listen. What do you want to say?” he asks. 

Slowly she pushes herself to her feet and motions for the men to follow her. They approach two Skirmishers, one in white armor and the other in green, ordering both human and Skirmishers soldiers about as they moved bodies. She calls them over, and the one in green armor stiffens at the sight of them. The one in white places a hand on the other’s shoulder and says something as they approach.

“These are my right and left hands, Mox and Orel,” Betos introduces, gesturing to the white and green armored Skirmishers in turn. 

“You should be resting,” Mox says, removing his helmet. “We can handle organization while you recover.”

“This is more important.”

“What does this have to do with trusting you lot?” Volk interrupts. “We have other, better things to attend to.”

Bradford grabs Volk’s arm before he can get ahead of himself. “ _ You  _ don’t have to be here if you don't want to. I'm willing to wait and listen.”

“You should have been willing to listen four years ago,” Orel says. She lifts her hands to her chin to undo her helmet - only there isn’t a hybrid under the armor.

“Commander?” Bradford stutters, feeling like the ground has disappeared from under him. She looks so much like how she did when XCOM first stood, like she’d aged at only a quarter of the pace of everyone else. The only major difference from his memory was the scar that followed the line of her jaw on her left side. “How - What?”

“My people found her some years ago while infiltrating an ADVENT clinic,” Betos explains.

Volk eyes the Commander warily. “And you just stayed with them?”

She glares at the Reaper for a brief moment, then resettles her glare on her former second. “We tried contacting you, but you never picked up, not until  _ now _ , of all times. Betos knew for a fact that the Reapers and Templars would never answer, either, so I couldn’t go to them. Any human resistance camp I tried to approach turned me away once they saw the scars on the back of my head,” she explains sharply. “I had nowhere else to go, and the Skirmishers were more than happy to take me in.”

“Commander, I - I’m sorry,” Bradford says, shoulders slumping. “I didn’t-”

She steps forward and points her ripjack at him. “You damn well should be! I thought you were supposed to be better at politics, but at least I never ignored the council’s calls! If someone messaged me I was sure to get back to them quickly!” she snaps. She pauses to mutter something under her breath in what sounds like a mix of alien and human tongues and rub at the bridge of her nose. After a moment, she steps back, somewhat calmer. Her gaze is no less furious. “You’re lucky.”

Before any of them can ask what that’s supposed to mean, she puts her helmet back on and stalks off towards the men she had been ordering about earlier. 

Betos looks at Mox and nods, and the other Skirmisher quickly goes to follow her. “Perhaps it is best if we discuss everything later, over a meal,” she suggests, turning back to the other leaders. She looks pointedly at Volk. “You do not have to join us, Reaper, if you do not wish so. This is a matter between XCOM and Skirmisher.”

“I agree,” Bradford says. He looks around the ravaged Skirmisher base. “There’s space on the Avenger for us to speak privately. Your people are welcome to join mine, too. We’ve enough supplies.”

“That’s asking for more to be murdered,” Volk mutters under his breath.

“I’ll make sure my men won’t cause any trouble,” Bradford adds, pointedly glaring at Volk. “I assume your Skirmishers don’t want to cause any trouble, either.

 

“They will behave. For now, I must see to my people,” Betos says. She turns to shamble in the same direction that Mox and Orel had gone, only to be stopped shortly by another Skirmisher dragging her to a place to sit.

Volk glares at Bradford. “None of this seems right,” he says. “I wouldn’t trust either Betos or that woman who claims to be your Commander.” With that, he turns and heads back to the Avenger to tend to his own machinations. 

Bradford finds a group of his own men and does what he can to help out, hoping to stop from feeling more lost than he has in years.

 

* * *

 

 

“How do we even know this is really XCOM’s former Commander?” Volk asks, pointing his fork at the woman. The four of them sit in an almost too pristine living quarters, trying to eat their dinners and not kill each other. “We’ve all seen those Faceless things, what the aliens are capable of. What if she’s just another infiltrator?”

On the couch opposite him, Betos glares. “If she were an infiltrator, she could have destroyed the Skirmishers years ago. But she has not,” she says.

“It’s a fair question,” Orel says casually. She puts her bowl down and digs under the collar of her armor. She tugs a chain bearing two tags from around her neck and tosses it to Bradford. “Only one set of those has ever been made. You recognize them, yes?”

Bradford rubs his thumb over the embossed letters of his Commander’s name on one of the tags. His memory is hazy after twenty years, but the two tags bear familiar dings and scratches to the last time he’d seen them.

“It’s definitely her,” he assures, tossing the dogtags back. “So how did you end up with the Skirmishers?”

Orel slides the chain back over her neck and the tags safely under her armor once more, then looks at Betos.

“Four years ago, I liberated a Skirmisher who had knowledge of a gene therapy clinic. He did not know why, but he knew that something important was being kept there. I sent a couple operatives to infiltrate this clinic, and they returned with her,” Betos explains. “She still bore your XCOM logo and had the scars indicating an implant, so we knew she was important to the false gods in some way.”

“And as I said before, the Skirmishers were willing to take me in, unlike any human groups. It was mutually beneficial,” Orel finishes with a shrug and a weak glare at the men. 

“Surely one of the havens would have taken you in if you said you were with XCOM, yes?” Volk asks.

“Once they saw the scars on the back of my head, they didn’t trust me. I mean, why would they? I’m as much former ADVENT as the rest of the Skirmishers.”

That makes both men look at her questioningly. 

“You weren't though, were you? You'd never work with them,” Bradford says, almost fearful. 

“You’re not one of,” Volk catches Betos’s glare, “one of  _ them _ , though.”

The Commander sighs and hesitates, looking as though she suddenly bore the weight of the world on her shoulders. “When I decided to stay with the Skirmishers permanently, I offered my skills to them. I helped them all hone their aim - which put them above ADVENT’s usual forces alone - but I also offered my tactical knowledge. We quickly discovered that all of the Skirmishers found my strategies to be...  _ unnervingly _ familiar. Given that the implant Betos removed from me is vastly different compared to those in ADVENT’s troops, and the conditions in which I was found, we believe they were using me to essentially command their armies.” She hesitates and adds, “I am just as responsible for every human death as any Skirmisher is.”

Bradford looks from the Commander to Betos in disbelief. From the corner of his eye, he can see Volk judging him as well.

“She was found in stasis, with no control over anything done to her,” Betos continues. She places a hand on the Commander’s shoulder, which seems to take some of the weight off of her. “She was used by the false gods, just as my own people were. Like my kind, she has done everything in her power to set the world right.”

He wants to argue with that, to say that she couldn’t have done everything without returning to XCOM, but Bradford knows that that’s on him. He had let Volk influence him too much into ignoring any of the Skirmisher’s signals, and now he was paying the price. 

He hesitates, then asks, “What’s your next move?”

“I don’t know,” the Commander says honestly. She looks down and pushes around the remaining rice in her bowl with her fork as she thinks. “We'll need to expand our numbers again. The Assassin came prepared, I couldn’t - I couldn’t save enough.” She pauses to swallow a lump in her throat. “In all honestly, the Skirmishers may never properly recover.”

“Mox and I can deal with the Skirmishers. You have greater things ahead of you, Orel,” Betos says softly. “You should return to XCOM.”

The Commander looks up at Betos, then across the room to Bradford anxiously. “I think that is something we need to discuss in private.”

Bradford nods and stands, setting his empty bowl on the tables between them. “Can I trust you two to not kill each other, Volk?” he asks, glancing pointedly at the Reaper.

“I'm a  _ gentleman _ ,” he says with mock insult.

Bradford looks back up at the Commander and motions for her to follow. He leads them to the room next door which, while smaller, looks far more lived in than the one they were just in. The sheets on the bed aren’t made, a pea coat hangs haphazardly over the back of a chair, and a small collection of bottles sits on a little table.

The Commander crosses over to the chair and picks up the pea coat, inspecting it and quickly putting the pieces together. “If this is your quarters-”

“Next door is supposed to be yours,” he answers before she can even finish the question. “If you want to come back, it  _ is  _ yours. As is everything else on the ship. It was always  _ meant _ to be yours.”

The Commander looks at him, and there is sorrow and regret and  _ pain _ in her eyes that makes him feel like he’s been stabbed. She leans against the chair and drops her gaze. “I want to, John. If you had asked me even a month ago, I would have joined in a heartbeat. As it stands now, I can’t in good consciousness leave the Skirmishers. XCOM was my family, as short as we existed, but you abandoned me when I needed help the most, and that hurts. But Betos  _ was _ there for me. We aren’t the same, but the Skirmishers are my family now, too.”

He scrubs his hands over his face, trying to push away memories of an interrupted phone call on the surface of the old base and the Commander nearly in tears. “And family has always been important to you, I know,” he sighs. “I’m sorry for ignoring the Skirmishers for so long, it was dumb and shortsighted of me. I’ve spent too long searching for you and not being the person you would have wanted me to be. I let Volk influence me too much, and now I’ve screwed everything up. Again.” He pauses, hating the next words before they even come out. “I understand if you don’t want to come back.”

Silence hangs between them, crushing him until he can’t speak, can’t breathe, and his heart can barely beat until finally,  _finally_ , the Commander breaks it.

“Do you want me to come back?”

“I’m not the strategist you are. I’m not the  _ leader _ you are. I can do my best, but it’s unlikely I’ll be able to kill the Elders. I know you can, though.”

She keeps staring at him in expectant silence. 

“I still love you,” he admits quietly. “I never stopped.”

“I'll come back, then.”

He perks up, eager but anxious. “I'm not exactly the same as you remember-”

“I know,” she interrupts. Whether she intends to or not, her gaze drifts briefly to the empty bottles on the table. She steps forward into his personal space and rests a hand gently on his jaw. “But I'll never find out who you are now if I stay with the Skirmishers. We'll never defeat the Elders if I stay with them.”

He places his hands on her hips, the Skirmisher armor making it odd, but not wholly uncomfortable.

“I do have one condition, though.”

He resists a groan. “Which is?”

“We help the Skirmishers, no matter what. Tell Volikov that he either deals with it or the Reapers are on their own.”

“You’ll have to talk our men out of killing every ADVENT troop they see,” he warns. “Some of them are a bit… trigger happy.”

Despite it all, she laughs. “Some things never change.”

The Commander pulls him into a kiss, gentle but no less insistent than he remembers. She pulls away after a moment, so he brings a hand up to tangle in her hair. It’s a bad move, clearly, since she immediately grimaces and shudders, so he drops his hand again.

“Sorry. I’m still not used to that scar,” she explains sheepishly. 

He raises an eyebrow to question her, but there’s a look in her eye that promises him more secrets than he really wants to know at the moment. 

They linger in each other’s space for a few moments, until finally the Commander sighs and steps back. “You’re lucky I still adore you, but you still have to earn my trust back,” she says quietly. “We should get back to Betos and Volikov before they murder each other, unless you really trust him to behave.”

“Understandable,” he says, nodding. The words sting, but he brought that upon himself. “I trust him, but we shouldn’t leave him for too long regardless.” He places a hand on her back and leads them back into the other quarters. The tension is palpable when they reenter, and he thinks they’re lucky that they’ve resisted attacking each other this long.

Both the other faction leaders turn to look at them when they enter. Volk’s gaze lingers on how Bradford’s arm disappears behind the Commander’s back. He doesn’t look surprised, but he does seem almost disappointed. If Betos has any feelings on the matter, she doesn’t show it.

“I’m returning to XCOM,” the Commander says, sounding very much the woman who was tasked with saving the world. Her gaze travels from Betos to Volk and hardens a fraction. “As Commander, I will do everything in my power to help the Skirmishers rebuild. If you’ve an issue with this, Volikov, you and your Reapers do not have to support us.”

Volk looks from the Commander to Bradford and back. “I’ll think about it. Now if you’ll excuse me,” he says. Without another word, he brushes by the three of them and leave the quarters. 

Once Volk leaves, the Commander seems to soften ever so slightly. “Sorry, Betos.”

 

“Do not be sorry, I knew you would not be with us forever. But we will be proud allies to the resistance,” she says.

The Commander steps forward and pulls the Skirmisher leader into a hug, mindful of the wound across her chest. “It’s the least I can do after all you’ve done for me. Hopefully Volikov and Geist will come around, even with my origins.”

“They will, of that I am sure,” she says. She holds the Commander close for a few moments, then releases the hug, but keeps one arm around her shoulders. “I do not wish to impose, but the longer you can stay the easier we can recover.”

The Commander looks to Bradford, raising her eyebrows. 

He sighs. “There’s a lot to sort out to get you up to speed. I’m sure Volk will want to be dropped off at a Reaper camp - Firebrand can probably take care of that, the crew’s going to be antsy enough with a change in leadership, being surrounded by Skirmishers likely won’t help, the Spokesman might call-”

“Wait, the Spokesman is alive?” the Commander asks incredulously. 

The look on her face almost makes him laugh. “Yes, he is. As I said, there’s a lot to catch you up on, but unless something else comes up we can stick around for a few days,” he says.

“Thank you,” Betos says, letting her arm slide off of the Commander’s shoulders. “I should return to my people before it gets late. We can discuss future plans in the morning.”

“Would you like me to accompany you out?” the Commander offers.

Betos shakes her head and glances briefly at Bradford before looking back at her. “I will manage. I believe you have other matters to attend to. Good night, Orel.” With that, she limps out of the quarters to find Mox.

Silence falls between them once the door closes again, odd but not uncomfortable. They were old friends separated by twenty years, but they will be once more.

“It’s good to have you back, Commander.”

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like all of my thoughts and feelings re: the Skirmishers has been leading up to this. Maybe now I can focus on one of the other projects I've been trying to do.
> 
> Fas est et ab hoste doceri - It is right to learn, even from the enemy


End file.
